She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. Well, kill me. He, a Chinaman, troubling himself over Occidental ideas! With his hands in his sleeves, he proceeded on his way. His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered.
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